There are so many days, especially now, when winter, once a favorite season, brings me such terrible bone deep nausea, that I despair of life. I despair so much I do not see how I can possibly last another day. The days when I am so sick that I wait as long as possible to empty my bladder, for the movement from my three layer foam bed will make me so terribly sick that I feel as if the earth herself is sending her sickness at man's behavior out through me. Such terrible nausea with a horrendous dull ache at its center. Hopelessly trapped, now with an eye condition that forces me to doctors far and wide, not to mention frequently, makes me shudder at the idea of long, jarring car rides for a ten minute doctor visit. I feel as though I am a caged tiger, once free and as innocent as any other tiger, delighted finally in my life, when a trap sprung up. Now children are handed electric cattle prods to jeer at me in foreign languages for my wickedness all the while stabbing me relentlessly with the cattle prod.
I so desperately want to be free of this. I want to be able to walk without regretting it. To drive a car without getting somewhere and being too ill to stay and too ill to drive home. To be free of those who shun or criticize me for faking, all the while my heart breaks and slips away while they themselves torture me by buying some coffee, holding their child, going on vacations, throwing parties, doing anything that is living...while I sit alone day after day after day, waiting. Waiting until I can be tired enough to go to sleep and not be sick. Waiting until a good day comes, those tormenting tidbits of life dangled before me, when I can drive with ease, visit with ease, and then go home and cry because that day is gone, and I still do not live.
And still I am forgotten. Or worse, criticized. I, who desired to further my education, to raise children and homeschool and do fun neat school things for them. To have art, crafts, and laughter with the devotion I would have had to them. To have a home mimicking my mother's, with cooking, baking, canning, and all the good comforts of a well run house such as she has done. To volunteer, teach my children to follow their strength in God.
Instead I wait, waiting for the remission required that never comes and never has. Waiting for any healing. Waiting for the next symptom with dread. Waiting and waiting, feeling sands of time slipping away from me, wasted because of the dreams that die a little more each day.
My education in God and the Word may be beginning to expand further than I ever imagined, with its own dreams for spreading that Word, but the despair I feel at times smothers me. Tonight is one of those nights, since I have been so nauseated the last several days, and for no apparent reason. Another dream is to be able to write a book, or an instrumental blog that changes people's lives, whether they, like me, walk through daily despair, or they merely want to learn. Knowledge of God is the truly useful knowledge. We fool ourselves into knowing about other things, telling ourselves it is important to know. Those things are broken mirrors, distorting God's person. Somehow, medicine, as fascinating as it is, is not useful. It is the study of death, really. The attempt to stop death.
Yet death was stopped already. Sin is death, and Christ covered sin's price. We may still physically die that we might see what price we had covered, since we walk in paradise, not the alternative, much as we seem to live life sinning and seeing and mourning the fallout of one mispoken word.
All our focuses on earth are as dull as that which I see day in and day out, with a variation of misery, some more, some less. It depends on what we want to grow in. The world? Or the truth?
Obviously i want a bit, or a lot, in both.
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